Flotsam and Jetsam
by H.J. Perry
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione set out to track down Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes and put an end to him, once and for all. They find help along the way from allies expected and unexpected. Romance flourishes, and Harry discovers that there are some things he
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Harry Potter stood in silence, staring out the window at the Weasleys' garden, filled with people, and the mix of auburn, purple, and twilight blue that made up the sunset overlooking the Devon countryside. It had been a very good day, and he was not happy to see it coming to an end, but he knew all too well that nothing lasted forever.

Bill and Fleur were happily married and would be leaving for a brief honeymoon in Bermuda in an hour or so. The only real rough point of the day had been his close proximity to Ginny Weasley, which became more and more difficult to bear as the day went on. It was so easy to laugh with her, to talk with her; but those things made the desire to pull her to him all the stronger. To hold her, kiss her, run his hands through her hair...and all of those things he couldn't do.

He was not going to give Voldemort any more of an excuse to hurt her than he already had. Full stop.

It would be easier, he thought, when he, Ron, and Hermione were on their own in Godric's Hollow. Harry reckoned people would have tried to come along if they'd known he was going...but they didn't. Harry had sworn Ron and Hermione to secrecy on the matter. It had been the subject of several long arguments over the course of their week-long stay at Privet Drive – an interesting affair to say the least – but Harry had finally won them over. They wouldn't be telling anyone they were going, though Ginny already knew, and they would be leaving letters behind so as not to worry anyone more than necessary.

They were travelling light – several changes of clothes, plus Hedwig, Pig, Crookshanks, their wands, and a few odds and ends Harry had bought from Fred and George. Harry felt certain Hermione would try to smuggle along a book or twelve, but he could put up with that, given that it had been she who'd booked and paid for rooms at a Muggle bed and breakfast in Godric's Hollow.

"Oi." Ron's voice cut into his thoughts.

Harry turned around. "All of your things packed?"

Ron nodded and pulled the three heavy rucksacks out from under Ron's bed. They had decided against taking their Hogwarts trunks, those being too cumbersome and harder to grab and go on a moment's notice.

"Have you said good-bye to Ginny?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed and shook his head.

"Look mate, don't you at least owe her a–" Ron started, but Harry cut him off.

"What I owe her is to stay the hell away from her so that Voldemort – grow up – so that Voldemort doesn't get any ideas. You know this. You agreed with me at Privet Drive; I don't see why you've changed your mind since then."

"I haven't," said Ron. "I mean, you know I don't want my sister to be any more of a target than she already is... I just think she might appreciate your saying goodbye. Even as...even as friends."

"You don't think I want to say goodbye to her?" Harry asked, exasperated. "You don't think I want...to be with her?" he asked more softly. "I wish to anything I could, but I can't."

"You won't." Ron emphasised, glaring at him. "And you can say good-bye to her without kissing her."

Harry winced. "No. I can't." This, the real reason behind his being up here and not downstairs with the others. "That dress. I can't take her wearing that dress." The rumbling creature within Harry thought there were any number of things he could do with her in that dress...or witho– Harry stamped on it and came back to himself.

Ron was smirking at him. "She's got you bad, mate."

Harry threw up his hands. "Do you not UNDERSTAND how dangerous that is? I want to snog her every time I see her, and in THAT dress, I–" He broke off at the look on Ron's face.

"You might want to keep that to yourself, mate."

Harry gulped. "Well...that's the point, isn't it? If I'm away from her, I don't think about those kind of...well, I do," he corrected, as Ron's expression turned incredulous. "But the point is, I can't act on them if I'm not near her, and also nobody will see me tempted and divine the truth."

"You don't think Snape knows?" Ron pressed him. "You don't think Draco bloody knows?"

"Well, Cho was obvious enough, and you don't see the Death Eaters kicking down her door to use her as leverage."

"You weren't happy with Cho," said Ron.

"That's beside the point," said Harry.

Ron sighed. "I just think it would be decent to say goodbye to her."

"I won't," said Harry. "And that's final."

Ron fell silent and glared at him.

"Look, we ought to get changed," said Harry, indicating the dress robes they were wearing.

Ron shook his head. "When Bill and Fleur leave. The party will start to wind down a bit then." 

"Look, the more people here, the less likely it will be noticed when we leave," said Harry.

"It's my brother's wedding day, Harry. I'm not leaving until he and Fleur do." Ron glared at him again, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

Harry sighed in frustration and went back to staring out the window.

It was some time later when a knock came at the open door. Harry half-turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway.

As with the first time he'd seen her that day, the breath was sucked out of him like a Bludger to the gut. Her dress was a pale gold, made up of a soft velvety fabric that illuminated her skin and hair in such a way that Harry found it extremely hard to concentrate. It was not terribly revealing, as dresses go, but he had never seen her looking so beautiful.

"They're missing you downstairs," Ginny said softly.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but words escaped him.

Ginny smiled. "Mum thinks you fancied Fleur and are up here pouting about the marriage."

Harry's jaw dropped. "What is she...I mean doesn't she know..." he stopped just short of saying "about us," as that would have hurt too much. Being in the same room with her was agony enough.

Ginny gave a humourless laugh. "We weren't together over a holiday or anything, how exactly was she to know?"

Harry shrugged. "I...I just assumed, I guess."

She looked him the eye, an inquisitive expression on her face. "Would you like to talk about whatever's bothering you? I could tell, even at a distance..." She took a step forward.

Harry felt his pulse quicken. This was not good.

"Ginny, I..."

She looked at him earnestly, expecting him to finish.

He didn't know quite how it happened, but in the next instant he had closed the gap between them and they were kissing.

They broke apart a long moment later.

"I wasn't supposed to do that," Harry said. "Damn it. I really wasn't–"

Ginny hushed him with a finger to his lips. "For luck," she said, then stepped out of his embrace and quietly left the room.

Harry stood still in the darkness for some time after that. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

Harry watched as Ron and Hermione finished the last of their breakfasts. His own was barely touched. He'd had to explain to the innkeeper, Mrs Goldsmith, that he was going to visit the graves of his parents, that he hadn't been before, and that he really didn't find anything wrong with her cooking. She had fussed over him in a Mrs Weasley-like fashion, but he was able to politely but firmly fend her off.

When Ron finally finished his last bit of bacon, Harry stood up and made for the door. They were in the Cotswolds, in the town of Godric's Hollow – the town that, in a perfect world, would have had a lot of memories for Harry.

They had all learned long ago that even with magic, their world was far from perfect. Harry remembered nothing about his surroundings, picturesque though they might be. Thatched cottages, cobblestone roads, and rustic English countryside made Godric's Hollow a beautiful little place indeed. Still, he had to admit that some things did seem familiar, like the memory of an old dream. Or perhaps he had an overactive imagination; Harry wasn't sure.

Ron and Hermione were quiet as they followed Harry down the front steps and into the streets. They had seen the cemetery next to the old church as they had flown in the previous night, but after a three hour journey, all Harry had wanted to do was crash into bed. Besides which, he didn't exactly have the best memories of cemeteries at night, and didn't fancy trying to find his parents' graves by wand light.

It was about a kilometre's walk from the bed and breakfast to the old church on the hill. The day was overcast, which seemed somehow appropriate to Harry, and though the birds were chirping, they did not see many people milling about as they made their way across town.

They came to the base of the hill, and Harry gazed upward a moment before going further. The hill itself was large and mound-like, surrounded by forest on two sides. It was the only formation of its kind in the area, leaving Hermione to wonder aloud if it wasn't at least partially manmade. At the top of the hill was an old stone church, complete with a large bell tower, still in use by the looks of it.

Immediately next to the church was a great black iron fence with a gate leading into the cemetery beyond it. As it was daytime, the gate was open.

As they made their way up the hill towards the gate, Ron asked, "Do you know where your mum and dad are buried, exactly?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't even know for certain they're in this cemetery; it just seemed like a logical place to start looking. All I know is that when I asked Aunt Petunia about it a few years back, all she said was 'Godric's Hollow'. I don't think she's ever been here," he said wryly.

"Well you're here," said Hermione. "And that's what matters."

They reached the open gate and walked through. The cemetery was decent-sized and archaic-looking. It included a multitude of statues and several mausoleums.

"I suggest we split up, we'll move faster that way," said Ron. "Hermione and I can take each take a side, and you can go down the centre."

Harry started picking his way through the stones. Longo. Chase. Mowbray. Alveraz. Smith. Fisher. Cooper. He found himself wishing that families were buried in alphabetical order.

"Harry," Hermione's voice cut into his train of thought from across the cemetery.

Harry inhaled sharply and looked up. "Did you find them?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so, but – Harry, do you know your grandparents' names?"

"No," said Harry, but he ran over anyway, followed closely by Ron.

Hermione was looking at a tombstone nestled in close to the wall of the old stone church.

Harry bent down to look at it. The inscription read:

Potter Francis Lisbeth 1739-1899 1750-1926 Devoted father Loving wife and mother

James, Sr Gertrude 1830-1980 1832-1979 Beloved son Dearest mother and husband and wife

"This has to be a wizarding family," Hermione said. "There's no other way to explain the dates."

"And James definitely rings a bell," said Ron.

Harry felt at once a touch of both excitement and bitter let-down. "This has to be my family," he said. "Or at least, my grandparents and great-grand parents. But my parents aren't here."

"Correct, Mr Potter," said a cultured voice from behind them.

Harry's wand was already drawn when he spun around, Ron and Hermione's were out a split-second later.

A middle-aged man stood there smiling at them, resting both hands on an ornate walking cane. He was tall, clad in a grey pin-striped suit and a feathered fedora, and seemed not at all surprised to have three teenagers levelling wands at his face.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" Harry demanded.

The man bowed. "My name is Filch. Jackob Filch. And I come from many places."

"Are you related to the caretaker at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

Jackob nodded. "I am indeed. He is my cousin."

"What do you want?" Hermione pressed.

"Mostly, to make your acquaintance," said Jackob. "I've waited the better part of fifteen years to do that. I'm rather glad I didn't hold my breath.'

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, not lowering his wand a centimetre.

"Likewise," said Jackob. "Would you like to see your parents' tomb?"

"Where is it?" Harry asked, glancing quickly across the empty cemetery.

"Well it's not here," said Jackob. "Or not in the cemetery, to be exact. Dumbledore wanted to be quite sure it wasn't defiled by supporters of the Dark Lord."

"Defiled?" Hermione gasped.

Jackob nodded. "Oh yes. There have been several attempts over the years, most of them since the Dark Lord returned to power. Certain of his followers believed such an act would gain them favour, I presume."

"I imagine it might have done," said Harry, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. "How do I know you're not one of them?"

Jackob smiled wryly. "You don't. I might ask you the same question. You might look like Harry Potter, but that's no guarantee of anything."

"I don't have to convince you of anything," said Harry. "You're out-numbered three to one, and you don't even have a wand drawn."

"Indeed?" said Jackob. "I was under the impression that you were being covered by two of my men as we speak."

"Bollocks," said Ron. "We'd have seen them."

Jackob favoured him with a sardonic smile. "You didn't see me," he said, "And I wasn't even wearing an Invisibility Cloak."

"Right," said Harry. "Why don't you take your invisible men and leave, before I have to hurt you?"

"Because I'm the Guardian of the Tomb," said Jackob, matter-of-factly. "I don't leave, except on special occasions. And while today is a special occasion, it is one that makes my presence here all the more necessary."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Because the tomb itself has not been entered in fifteen years. The enchantment is such that only a relative of James or Lily can enter it."

Ron let out a small laugh. "I've heard that before. You'd think once in a while the Death Eaters would come up with new plans to sucker us in."

"I'm not a Death Eater," said Jackob.

"I don't believe you," said Harry.

Jackob sighed. "All right." He rested his walking cane against a head stone and raised his hands in the air. "My wand is in my suit jacket, if you want to take it."

"Take it out," said Harry. "Slowly."

Jackob did so. It was a dark red wood, almost the colour of blood.

"Set it down on the ground and take three paces back," Harry ordered.

Jackob did so, then said, "Come out slowly, lads. Weapons down."

There was a shimmering not three metres to Harry's left, and another on the far side of the closest mausoleum. Harry turned and pointed his wand at the closer man, as the man dropped his Invisibility Cloak to the ground.

The man was tall, two metres at least, with dark brown hair and long sideburns. He wore a long black coat over blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt, and on his feet were knee-high cowboy boots. His wand was out, but lowered, pointed at the ground.

The other man was shorter, clad in black leather, with a bald head and a blonde goatee. He did not have a wand out, but was setting a bow and a quiver of arrows on the ground in front of him.

"Hermione, Mr Filch's wand if you would," said Harry.

She stepped forward quickly and scooped it up.

"Get on the ground and put your hands on your head," Harry ordered Jackob.

He did so calmly, looking not the least bit worried.

"You," Harry spoke to the wizard in cowboy boots. "Wand on the ground, now."

The man glared at him for a moment, but did as he was told and then took three steps backwards before Harry could tell him to do so.

Harry Summoned the man's wand.

"Stay where you are," he warned the bald man by the mausoleum.

"You," he ordered the man in front of him, "Get over there with Mr Filch. Down on your knees, hands on your head; watch him, Ron."

The man glared at Harry again, but did as he was ordered.

Harry turned to the bald man. "Accio bow and quiver," he said, causing the man's fallen weapons to fly towards Harry. "Where is your wand?" Harry demanded.

"I haven't got one," the man said. "I'm a Squib."

"Accio wand," Harry said, and when nothing happened, he nodded. "Get over there with your friends," he ordered. "Same deal: on your knees, hands on your head."

The man walked over to the others and did as he was commanded.

Harry put the quiver on his back, slung the bow over his shoulder, and rejoined the group.

Ron and Hermione looked at him quickly, and Harry could tell that they weren't sure where he was going with this, but would follow his lead.

"Now you can take us to the tomb," Harry said. "It's in the church, isn't it?" he guessed.

"Below the church, actually, but yes. We need to go through the church," said Jackob.

"Stand up; you're leading," Harry told Filch and his men. "Anything funny and you wake up in Auror custody."

Harry wasn't sure how much authority he had to go through with that threat, but then again Scrimgeour would probably love it. For that reason, among the more obvious ones, Harry hoped it didn't come to that.

They made their way round to the front of the church, which curiously did not have any signs or labels announcing its names or denomination.

Jackob stepped forward and opened the heavy wooden double doors. "Muggles can't see the church itself, just the graveyard – and only certain headstones."

They walked through the foyer to the main room. There was red carpet going down three rows, with ornately carved pews in between.

In the stained glass windows, there were depictions of famous wizarding figures from across history.

In the very front of the room was a great marble altar with three bronze candlesticks on it.

Jackob led them up to the altar and grabbed the centre candlestick, turning it clockwise in a circle. A wooden panel on the wall of the altar shifted aside to reveal a hidden passageway.

"After you," said Harry.

Jackob smiled thinly and went ahead, followed by his men.

Harry went directly after them, followed by Hermione, with Ron bringing up the rear.

They followed the corridor about ten paces in, then turned onto a long stair leading downward.

They seemed to walk for ages, and the air had become quite cool by the time they reached the bottom.

They were in what appeared to be a large sitting room, complete with several sofas and a coffee table, upon which sat several piles of what looked like maps.

Jackob walked up to a blank stretch of wall at the far end of the sitting room and said, "Tertius," in a commanding tone. The wall slid aside to reveal yet another hidden passageway.

"Up ahead are the catacombs," said Jackob. "Many witches and wizards were buried there of old. Your parents' tomb came as a rather late edition to a network of tunnels older than Hogwarts itself." He led them quietly through the maze of tunnels until they turned a corner and there it was: an intricately carved archway with the word 'Potter' inscribed over it. Beyond the archway, only darkness.

"This is as far as we go," Jackob said. "Only Harry can pass through that arch."

"And what happens when I do?" Harry asked, not liking this at all.

"The passageway is lit, and you can proceed," said Jackob. "But the barrier will remain in place, I'm afraid. Dumbledore's wards allow for no non-relatives to enter the tomb after it was sealed."

Harry sighed heavily. "Dumbledore is dead," he said flatly. "I doubt any spells he put up will still be in place."

Jackob shook his head. "Any basic curses or charmwork that a deceased wizard has previously performed are undone with the wizard's death. But these are wards, boy. It will take more than Death to undo strong defensive magic like that."

Harry still didn't like the idea of leaving Ron and Hermione behind with this lot, even unarmed...but he also knew had to see whatever was in the chamber beyond.

"If I'm not back in half an hour, stun this lot and go the Burrow for help," he said.

"Harry are you sure you should–" Hermione started.

"Yes." Harry jerked his head sharply. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked through the archway bearing his name. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

A line of torches along both sides of the wall of the tunnel lit up as Harry passed through the archway. His footsteps echoed as he walked slowly towards the end, which was at least fifty metres away. On the floor below him he could see the imprints of his feet in fifteen years'of accumulated dust.

In the distant torchlight, he could now make out a chamber at the end of the tunnel. Quickening his strides and holding his wand at the ready, Harry made his way to the tunnel's end.

He stepped into a room free of dust and lit with a strange blue light that had no source that Harry could detect. There were two great stone coffins, similar to that of Dumbledore's at Hogwarts, and Harry's heart caught in his chest. By the light of the tomb, he made out a name written across the lid of each coffin.

James Francis Potter 1960-1981

Lily Evans Potter 1960-1981

Twenty-one. My parents were both twenty-one, Harry thought to himself. He shook his head. He of course knew that his parents had died very young, but had never been able to narrow it down to an exact number of years. To think that his parents had only been only five years older than he, Harry, was now…

Harry stood still in front of his parents' coffins for a long time. Gradually coming back to himself, he realised that Ron and Hermione would be worried about him, and turned to leave.

It was then that he noticed the single wooden podium standing to the left of the tomb's entrance. The podium itself wasn't as interesting as the envelope resting atop it. He walked over and picked it up. With a start, he saw that the letter was addressed to him. It was written in a strong, confident hand – could this be from his father? Taking a deep breath, Harry tore it open and read the contents.

Dear Harry,  
If the existence of this letter comes as a surprise to you, it means that I am dead or have been otherwise unable to contact you before coming here. That would be unfortunate, but better prepared than sorry later. My name is Frank Longbottom – Harry started at the name – the letter was from Neville's father!

and my wife Alice and I were friends of your parents. As you may or may not know, we were all part of a group called the Order of the Phoenix. The purpose of this group's existence was to fight the Dark wizard called Voldemort. You will know by now how that wizard met his apparent end, so I won't bother going through details I don't fully understand anyway. My main purpose in writing this letter is that I don't believe we've seen the last of Voldemort. There's no telling when he'll come back, or how, but there wasn't a body, and as an Auror, I operate by the rule of never being certain of a death until you've seen the body. Dumbledore, the leader of the Order, sees eye to eye with me on this, which is part of the reason your parents' tomb is hidden here and not in the cemetery on the surface – we don't want Voldemort or his followers having access to your parents' bodies for any reason. Dumbledore has also placed powerful wards over the entrance; this is the reason why you and you alone were able to enter the tomb. Acting on my own, I decided that wards were not necessarily enough, and asked a man named Jackob Filch to take the duty of Guardian of the Tomb – you will have met him on your way here unless many things have gone awry. Filch is an old friend of mine, and you can trust him, though I know for a fact that Dumbledore disapproves of his methods of fighting the Dark Arts. I was much the same in my way, but unlike myself, Filch prefers to work alone, or at the head of a group of people he has handpicked – I was part of such a group before I joined the Order. If you're anything like your father – and I reckon you will be – you'll be eager to find any trace of Voldemort or his followers and bring them to justice. Jackob has assured me that he will help you with this when the time is right…and he is a very good ally to have. He's not as skilled a wizard as Dumbledore, but he has an eye for battle tactics and has developed some pretty innovative techniques for bringing down Dark wizards and creatures alike. If Dumbledore is still Headmaster at Hogwarts School, you will know him well by now. Mind what he says; he is a wise man and has a knack for seeing things the rest of us don't. Mind Jackob too, though, because he is an expert at staying alive, and has seen more fire and brimstone than Alice and I put together – which is a great deal indeed. He can teach you how to survive, and he can teach you how to kill. What you do with that knowledge is entirely your prerogative. I pray you will forgive the 'to business' nature of this letter; your parents were very special people and they touched the lives of everyone they knew, especially those of us who fought alongside them in the Order. The wizarding world owes them – and you – a debt of gratitude. And while the wizarding world at large tends to forget their debts with ease, Longbottoms do not. Alice and I are at your disposal; you need but to ask for our help.

Sincerely Yours,  
Frank Longbottom

Harry bitterly remembered his trip to the Closed Ward at St Mungo's. He had no doubt that Frank and Alice would have helped him, had they still been sane. The letter did seem to clarify that Jackob was who he claimed he was. Harry still didn't trust him, especially after reading the part about Dumbledore not trusting Filch's methods. Anything that bothered Dumbledore was also very likely to bother Harry.

Harry realised with a jolt that some time had passed since he'd left Ron and Hermione with instructions to stun Filch and his men if he wasn't back within a certain time. Shoving the letter into the pocket of his jeans, he turned and ran from his parents' tomb.

They were all still waiting at the tunnel's entrance, though Ron and Hermione were looking very nervous.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Harry said. "I got caught up in…something."

"Frank's letter?" Jackob asked.

Harry frowned. "How do you know about it?"

"Frank told me," said Jackob. "He snuck it in there before Dumbledore sealed the tomb."

"Frank who?" Ron asked.

"Longbottom – Neville's dad," said Harry.

Ron's eyes widened, but Hermione said, "Why did he sneak it past Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore didn't like me very much," said Jackob blandly.

"Yes, Frank mentioned that," said Harry. "He was vague on exactly why though."

"I have a tendency to kill my enemies," said Jackob with a dark smile.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I think it's perfectly clear why Dumbledore didn't like you then."

"Black and white thinking gets you killed, my dear," said Jackob.

"Got Dumbledore killed, you mean," Ron accused.

"It will kill anyone, but yes, from what I've heard of the circumstances surrounding his death, it killed Dumbledore."

Harry wasn't sure what to think. Dumbledore had trusted people too much – that was why he was dead, wasn't it? Perhaps it had been an inability to see shades of grey that had contributed to that blind trust.

"Following that line of thinking, I would be a fool to give you lot your weapons back, even though I've evidence you're not an enemy."

Jackob nodded. "Correct, Mr Potter. You're learning. However, we don't need to have wands to talk, and there are more comfortable quarters to do so, if you're interested?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, then said, "Yeah, all right. Your sitting room then?"

Jackob nodded. "Just the place."

They walked back down the corridor to the bottom of the long stairway, where sat several sofas and a coffee table strewn with maps.

"Make yourself comfortable," said Jackob, taking a seat on one of them. The bald Squib did the same.

The man in cowboy boots did not. With a look of contempt on his face, he leaned against the wall. "I can talk from here," he said in an obviously-American accent.

"I'm sure you can," said Harry, turning to point his wand at the American. "But I'd rather you sat."

The American looked at him with hard eyes. "Boy, if I wanted you dead, the whole lot of you would have been pushing up daisies an hour ago."

"Sullivan, please," said Jackob. "There's no need for any of that. Sit."

Sullivan glared at him but moved over and sat on the sofa.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat on the sofa opposite them.

"I have been remiss," said Jackob. "I did not introduce my compatriots. I would like you to meet Aiden Dane –" he gestured to the bald Squib, "– and Sullivan Bruce."

"Are you all Guardians then?" asked Harry. Frank's letter hadn't said anything about these other two.

Jackob shook his head. "Aiden is a werewolf hunter, and Sullivan is a wand-for-hire from the States."

"A werewolf hunter?" Hermione asked. It was clear that she, like Harry, liked this lot less and less as he got to know them better.

"That's right," said Aiden. "You have a problem with that?"

"We all do," said Ron. "We're good friends with a werewolf. He can't help what he is."

"No, that's true," said Aiden. "But I don't hunt the innocents."

"You're after Fenrir Greyback then?" Harry asked.

Aiden nodded. "Yes. And others like him."

Hermione gasped. "How many…I mean, there can't be that many others who–"

"There aren't," said Aiden. "Hence my working for Jackob. I've got no problem fighting Dark wizards either, I just prefer werewolves."

"And you," Harry addressed Sullivan. "You're a mercenary?"

Sullivan was quiet a moment before responding. "That's right."

"And what happens if Voldemort outbids Mr Filch here?"

Aiden hissed softly at the use of Voldemort's name, but neither Filch nor Sullivan seemed to care.

"Sullivan would work for the devil himself if the price was high enough," said Jackob. "But once he's signed a contract he's the most loyal man in the business."

"That's a…very strange code of honour," said Hermione.

"Honour's got nothing to do with it," said Sullivan. "It's good business, pure and simple. Folks know that if they hire me, I will stick by them until my contract is done, no matter what the opposition is offering. And the name's Sully, by the way. Jackob uses the full name to piss me off."

"I…see," said Hermione slowly.

"So what are you doing here, if not guarding the tomb with Jackob?" Harry pressed.

"The same thing you do on a regular basis, if the Daily Prophet is to be believed," said Jackob. "We hunt Death Eaters."

"Well, how come we've never heard of you before?" Ron asked.

Jackob looked at him. "Because generally speaking, we don't leave anyone alive to report back to the Dark Lord. Over the past several months, certain Death Eaters have just… vanished. Voldemort probably thinks the Ministry has them."

"That sounds…practical," said Harry, still not sure he liked these men.

"Or not," said Hermione. "What happens if you mess up?"

"What?" Jackob asked.

"What happens if you mess up?" Hermione repeated. "What happens if you kill someone who doesn't deserve it?"

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'deserve it'," said Jackob.

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it.

After a long moment's silence Jackob said, "Anyone branded with the Dark Mark has joined an organisation well known for murder, torture, and mind control. Our goal as a group is to 'catch them in the act' of doing such things, as it were, but we're not above hunting someone who has been proven to do such things in past instances, either."

"Not all of the Death Eaters work for Voldemort because they want to," said Harry. "Some are under the Imperius Curse, and others…well, others may have joined willingly, but found they were in over there head."

"You have someone specific in mind," said Jackob. It was not a question.

Harry nodded. "Draco Malfoy. He's a student in our year at Hogwarts."

Ron's mouth dropped in surprise. "Malfoy? Harry, you can't honestly think–"

"I was there!" Harry interrupted him fiercely. "I was there on the roof with Dumbledore. Malfoy wouldn't have killed him. He was lowering his wand when the others came up and Snape…and Snape killed Dumbledore."

"Maybe he was just waiting for backup," Ron countered.

Harry shook his head. "No. Malfoy had every opportunity to kill Dumbledore and he didn't. Dumbledore said as much, and Malfoy said that if he didn't kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would kill him and his family."

"It sounds like you are correct in your assessment – this young man doesn't sound like he has the stomach for murder," said Jackob.

"Does that make him weak, in your mind?" Hermione asked him.

Jackob shook his head. "No. Firstly, there is such a thing as a wrongful killing – that is how I define murder. Secondly, not every person can be comfortable with killing. Some people – good people – can kill without being bothered by it. Others kill when they absolutely have to, but feel guilty about it for the rest of their lives. Neither is wrong, they are simply… different."

"Where does Malfoy fit into that though?" Ron asked. "Given that, according to Harry, he doesn't have it in him to kill at all."

Jackob smiled darkly. "Oh, everyone has it in them to kill, Mr Weasley. It's just buried deeper in some than it is in others."

"I don't believe you," said Ron. "And how d'you know my name?"

"Come now," said Jackob. "Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Anyone who reads the Prophet knows who Harry's friends are by now."

"The Prophet is a rubbish paper," said Ron. "You shouldn't trust everything you read in it."

"No, that's true," said Jackob. "But I can read in between the lines quite well, thank you."

"We're getting off topic," said Harry. "What would you do if you encountered Malfoy, or someone like him?"

Jackob sighed. "I don't know. It would depend on the situation."

"All of this is operating under the assumption that Malfoy doesn't have it in him to commit murder," said Hermione. "All we know is that he didn't have it in him to commit murder then. I mean, Dumbledore started trusting Snape for similar reasons, didn't he, and look where it got him."

"Severus Snape," said Jackob. "Ah, there's a conundrum."

"He's a murderer, nothing more," said Harry fiercely. "There isn't anything complex about that."

"Ah, but there is," said Jackob. "In fact, there is a great deal about him that is an enigma. He is a man who is – was – trusted by the two most powerful men in the wizarding world."

"Voldemort doesn't trust anyone," said Harry. "And Dumbledore was obviously wrong."

Jackob sighed. "I think Voldemort trusts Snape as much as he trusts anyone. Possibly even more than anyone else."

"And you're basing this off…?" Harry asked.

"I have a spy in the Death Eaters," said Jackob.

"Even if your spy is right, I don't see the big mystery," said Harry.

"I think both men…if you can call Voldemort a man…trusted Snape as much as they were capable of trust. And… I think the trust of both men was misplaced."

"So whose side is he on, then?" Hermione asked.

"His own," said Filch. "He's rather like me in that respect."

"Snape is the reason my parents are dead," Harry growled.

"Voldemort is the reason your parents are dead. No one else," said Jackob.

"He told him about the prophecy!" Harry started. "He told Volde–" Immediately he shut up, realising what he had just blurted.

"Well well…" said Jackob. "Turns out the Daily Prophet was right after all. There was a prophecy."

"Damn it," said Harry.

"Well yes, that would be my reaction," said Jackob.

"Well…there was a prophecy," said Harry. "And Snape heard part of it, and went and told Voldemort. And acting on that, Voldemort killed my mum and dad."

"Dumbledore didn't know this?" Aiden asked, incredulous.

"He did know," said Harry. "Snape told him he was really sorry and all, no harm meant by it, and Dumbledore believed him."

Jackob's brow narrowed in thought. "Did he now? Did he indeed? I wonder. Dumbledore was no fool, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, but he had to believe the best in people," said Harry. "Fatal flaw."

"If you can call optimism a flaw," said Hermione.

"Taken to certain levels, just about anything can be a flaw," said Sully.

"Dumbledore's Legilimency versus Snape's Occlumency…" Jackob mused, almost to himself.

"How did you know Snape was an Occlumens?" Hermione asked.

"I make it my business to know," said Jackob. "Dumbledore and Voldemort are…were…both accomplished Legilimens. And Snape… Snape has done his fair share of lying to both of them, which speaks worlds for his Occlumency skill."

"Yeah, we get it, you think he's great," said Ron. "Were you going somewhere with this?"

"I don't think he's great," said Jackob. "I think he's nasty, slimy, and a backstabbing git. However, I have an appreciation for enigmas, and as I am trying to point out, Severus Snape is very much a puzzle."

"I thought you said he was on his own side, and was 'rather like you in that respect'," Hermione said shrewdly.

Jackob nodded. "That I did, and that he is, or so I believe. However, having met the man, I also know that he is vindictive, seems to enjoy picking on people weaker than he is, and moreover he doesn't wash his hair."

Ron laughed at that, but Harry shook his head. "So if Snape isn't on Voldemort's side, why kill Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps he had no other choice," said Jackob.

"How do you work that one out?" Ron demanded.

"I don't, it's just an idea," said Jackob.

"The Unbreakable Vow," said Hermione.

"I beg your pardon," said Jackob.

"The Unbreakable Vow," said Hermione. There was the sort of manic look in her eye she sometimes got when she'd finally figured out something complex. "Snape made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother, to protect him! Remember the conversation you overheard before Christmas?"

"Ah," said Jackob. "Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. It could well be that the reasons behind Snape's actions… all of them…can be tied to why he made that vow. How much of this conversation did you overhear?"

Harry shook his head. "Just enough to know that he'd made it, and who with."

"Still though," said Ron. "He should've risked losing his powers when it came down to breaking the vow or murdering Dumbledore!"

A stray memory clicked in Harry's brain. "No," he said. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted that. Would've insisted Snape follow through with the vow, I think. He valued other people's lives – especially younger people's – much more highly than he did his own."

"So wait," said Aiden. "Does this mean that Dumbledore was murdered…on his own orders?"

"It's…possible," said Harry, shaking his head. This whole situation was a complicated mess; he didn't know what to trust anymore.

"I think, perhaps, that it would be safest not to trust Snape with anything for any reason," said Jackob. "But also to understand that he might have had good reasons for what he did, and hold off on killing him as a result."

"The Ministry won't see it that way," said Hermione ruefully.

"I don't work for the Ministry," said Jackob. "Last I checked, neither do you lot."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "No. No, we don't." He unslung the bow and quiver from his back and handed them back to Aiden. He returned Sully's wand to its owner, and nodded at Hermione, who handed Jackob's wand back to him.

"Thank you," said Jackob. "Since we're lowering our collective guard a bit…Maxwell, you might as well come out and join us."

A panel in the stairway shifted aside and a bearded man dressed in plain black Muggle clothing stepped out. He had six antique flintlock pistols strapped to his body, and a musket slung over his back. "Feasgar math," he said in a thick Scottish accent. "My name is Maxwell Machamish."

"You were there all along?" Harry asked, looking accusingly at Jackob.

"I was," said Maxwell. "And what would you have done, in Jackob's place, eh?"

Harry sighed. "Probably kept you hidden where you were until I determined it was safe. What's with the pistols?"

"I'm a Muggle," said Maxwell.

"I thought you said Muggles can't see this building," Hermione said to Jackob.

Jackob smiled. "Maxwell has a very rare gift. 'True Sight', some call it. For whatever reason, wizarding illusions have no effect on him."

"First started happening when I was 18," said Maxwell. "I was a Jesuit Novitiate at the time. My superiors thought I was crazy; I got laughed at or hushed too many times, so eventually I left. Started looking into what, at the time, I thought of as 'the occult'. I followed wizards, learned what I could of their society, and documented what I found."

"Documented where?" Hermione asked.

"In my own journals," said Maxwell. "Anyway, all of that changed in 1978. A wizard I had been following for several weeks was attacked by several men in black cloaks. They started torturing him – middle of the street in broad daylight and they were torturing him.

"I tried to intervene, and they nearly killed me for it. Long story short, Aurors arrived on the scene and saved my life. I had already discovered that some wizards had relatives who couldn't do magic, so I passed myself off as one. Lucky I did too, though I didn't know about Obliviators at the time. I recovered, and set out to hunt the men who had hurt me."

"So you became a witch hunter, essentially?" Hermione asked.

"Makes it sounds like he's chasing skirts," Sully said with a nasty laugh.

Maxwell ignored him. "Yes, I did. But enough o' this chit chat. Let's get back to business."

"What is business, exactly?" Ron asked. "We were questioning you before, and now we're all chummy."

"I wouldn't go that far," said Sully.

"I believe we were discussing our mutual goal," said Jackob. "Hunting Voldemort. If you really are the Chosen One, Harry, if you really do stand a chance of bringing him down, then we've got some information for you that could be crucial."

"Well, the Prophecy said one of us is going to kill the other," said Harry said. "It says I've got the power to stop him, not that I necessarily will."

"Then the more knowledge you have, the better," said Jackob.

"Agreed," said Harry. "What have you got for me?"

"It's just a theory, mind, but I think I know how Voldemort survived the Killing Curse backfiring," said Jackob.

Harry pretended to register surprise; he didn't want to let on how much he already knew. "Really?"

"I found reference to a little known, highly powerful Dark artefact called a Horcrux. Essentially the wizard splits his soul, and hides part of it away in an object. He can't be killed unless that object is destroyed."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, well. We knew about that. Only, he doesn't have just one Horcrux. He's got multiples. Possibly as many as seven, counting the one inside Voldemort himself."

Aiden cursed softly and Maxwell muttered something in Gaelic. Jackob was silent, but for the first time, Harry saw fear in the man's eyes. "Seven," he finally said. "Merlin's beard."

"If it's any consolation, we've destroyed two," Harry added.

Jackob raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Harry destroyed one, a diary. The other was a ring, Dumbledore destroyed it," said Ron.

"How did you find them?" Filch asked. "Finding even one Horcrux can be an extremely challenging task, especially for a wizard whose background is as little-known as Voldemort's."

"Tom Riddle was one of Dumbledore's students," said Harry with a rueful smile. "Dumbledore made good use of his Pensieve."

"So I see," said Jackob. "Any idea what the others might be?"

"Some," said Hermione. "Guesswork."

"A cup," said Harry. "Belonging to Helga Hufflepuff. A locket owned by Slytherin. Voldemort's snake, Nagini. And something belonging to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor – he seems to like objects associated with the Founders."

"What makes you think there are only six?" asked Aiden.

"Something Riddle said in the Pensieve," said Harry vaguely.

"Do you have any leads as far as location goes?" Jackob asked.

"Not really," said Harry. "I was hoping to find something in Godric's Hollow."

"Well, instead you found someone," said Jackob. "Perhaps we could be of help to you, though."

"How?" Ron asked bluntly.

"Well. If I were going to go about the business of making Horcruxes, I would need access to an extensive library of illegal texts…Dark magic – not the sort of thing that most wizards would have lying around. Even Death Eaters – that sort of thing tends to be a bit incriminating."

"So where would you look?" Harry asked.

"Why, the only place there is to look," said Jackob. "The library of a Dark wizard." 


End file.
